He loves me? He loves me not? (Kyanite and Matthew)
Aug 26, 2014 14:40:37 GMT -5
Post by * on Aug 26, 2014 14:40:37 GMT -5
Hours have turned into days since I've heard from him. Days since I've seen his face or felt his arms around me. This feeling is absolutely horrible to sit here and wake up every day to a cold house, being wrapped up in my blanket and no voices. Not even my own father's voice rings out. That woman had came by last night to check on me, but with harsh words, she never took a step beyond the threshold before I shut the door in her face. She is nowhere near close to the parent I want nor does she have any right to be around now that my father is gone. Without Jeran, I wouldn't even be here.
I stand from the bed, moving slowly toward the bathroom. The usual churning of my stomach has not let up, but it's become routine. Everyday the same thing except for the words that echo in my head. "He wanted me to tell you that he's sorry, and that he loves you."
He loves me... he loves...me? He's sorry? Loves... love. I let my back hit the back of the wall in the bathroom as I sit on the ground. My eyes closing, with my arms wrapping around my middle. My fingers trace small lines on my exposed stomach as I lift up my shirt. Hardly noticable except a little bit of hardness now. He or she is growing and it's become so life altering. "Jeran, I hate being here alone. Hurry home." I say to myself. No sooner that those word leave my mouth, the phone rings and so does a small grunt of displeasure. Two more rings and then on the third, I press against the wall to get up.
"Okay... Okay, I'm coming." I let the tone come out. As soon as I reach the phone, I mask my voice with the sweet voice to come across years ahead of myself. "Ruze residence?"
I pause a moment before I hear the voice on the other side of the line. Immediately, I feel my throat close up and a hand goes to my mouth, covering it to conceal any sounds of excitment that might leak out. Why is he calling? Is he allowed?
"Matthew?"
I stand from the bed, moving slowly toward the bathroom. The usual churning of my stomach has not let up, but it's become routine. Everyday the same thing except for the words that echo in my head. "He wanted me to tell you that he's sorry, and that he loves you."
He loves me... he loves...me? He's sorry? Loves... love. I let my back hit the back of the wall in the bathroom as I sit on the ground. My eyes closing, with my arms wrapping around my middle. My fingers trace small lines on my exposed stomach as I lift up my shirt. Hardly noticable except a little bit of hardness now. He or she is growing and it's become so life altering. "Jeran, I hate being here alone. Hurry home." I say to myself. No sooner that those word leave my mouth, the phone rings and so does a small grunt of displeasure. Two more rings and then on the third, I press against the wall to get up.
"Okay... Okay, I'm coming." I let the tone come out. As soon as I reach the phone, I mask my voice with the sweet voice to come across years ahead of myself. "Ruze residence?"
I pause a moment before I hear the voice on the other side of the line. Immediately, I feel my throat close up and a hand goes to my mouth, covering it to conceal any sounds of excitment that might leak out. Why is he calling? Is he allowed?
"Matthew?"